Autumn's Leaves
by Maya Aodhan
Summary: Over a decade has passed since the events of Dragon Age: Origins. Solana Amell, the Grey Warden and mage of the Circle, walked away from Alistair Theirin so that he might be King without anything to distract him. She has barely seen him since, certainly not to tell him that he has a daughter. And she intends to keep it that way. Or would have if circumstances didn't conspire...
1. Chapter 1

Solana knelt and touched the earth. It was silky soft to her fingertips with the lingering warmth of the beast that had slumbered here only minutes before. She lifted her head and tested the wind. It smelled of late autumn - the hearth fires of the farmers, the leaves padding the undergrowth, whirling from the almost bare branches of the spindly trees that arched above like a huge natural cathedral.

She pulled her bow from across her chest and fitted an arrow. Her quarry was near. She moved slowly through the low scrub, following the tracks she had picked up after a few minutes of searching. The water hollow was a small one on the far reaches of her land and often served the creatures of this forest. She crept close, keeping low, remembering Zevran's lessons, staying downwind.

The hollow was still and clear. She swam here often in summer. The deer was drinking from it and upon her approach, it lifted its head. It had a small rack of antlers, flanks still plump from summer excess. She drew the bow, sighted down the arrow and let it fly.

With a grunt, Solana pulled the beast down from the horse. The mount shifted with the weight transference but otherwise remained steady. The stable lad took the reins and silently nodded to Solana, leading Ash toward the stables. She had field dressed the animal, making it lighter and easier to carry. She deposited the carcass in the kitchens, to the delight of their cook Alveros. He beamed at her with enthusiasm.

"Ahh, such a find, m'lady!"

"Easy take down. Caught him just after a nap." Solana slapped the furred flank of the deer.

"We shall eat well for days. Lovely."

Solana nodded. "I'm going to go clean up."

"Breakfast is still in the dining room, m'lady."

"Thank you."

Solana slung her bow and arrows from her shoulder, removed her dagger from her hip and set them carefully aside to be dealt with later. She removed her bracers, the scarred leather warm and pliable to the touch. She sat down on the end of her bed to unlace her boots.

"Mum?" a youthful voice called from the doorway.

She glanced up, a smile already curving her lips. The little sprite with curling blonde hair and bright blue eyes stood there with a severe expression on her refined features. "Hey beautiful girl."

The sprite entered, her soft grey leather boots barely making a whisper of sound on the floor. "You said I could go with you next time."

Solana pursed her lips and held open her arms. The sprite hesitated before falling in for a hug. Solana lifted her daughter onto her knee and snuffled at the girl's neck in a way that made her shriek with laughter.

"You smell like gingerbread," she growled in Wynne's ear. The girl wriggled.

"Mu-uuu-ummm," Wynne protested. "Stop. Stop! That tickles."

"Eat you all up!"

Solana tumbled them onto the bed and proceeded to tickle Wynne breathless.

They lay curled together, Wynne's head tucked under Solana's chin.

"Mum," Wynne said softly. "You said I could come hunting next time."

Solana sighed. Her daughter was stubborn. "I know, daughter of mine. Next time. I broke my promise this time for I needed time today. Quiet time."

Wynne's lower lip pouted. "But…"

Solana tapped her daughter's nose. "No sulking."

Wynne sighed. Solana bit sharply at her lip. Her daughter was growing so quickly. She was almost twelve. And she secretly thanked the Maker that she had shown no inclination toward magic. Toward hunting and tracking, the life of a ranger, yes. But she showed no interest, nor aptitude for magicks.

Solana stared over at the cabinet in the corner of her room.

"Come on, kid. I have to get changed for breakfast. I can't go in these leathers. Have you had yours?"

"Hours ago." Wynne sat up and scrambled off the bed. "I could eat again."

Solana smiled. Just like her father. "Alright. Give me ten minutes."

Wynne scampered for the doorway. "'Kay. I will tell Bridger to set my place again."

When Solana was alone, she stepped toward the cabinet. She waved her hand over the lock that accepted no key. The magic surged through her and the door opened. Her magic stave, the last one she had carried, leaned innocently in the corner, the runes carved into its length quiet now. The stones set into the carved piece at the top made her smile. She brushed her fingertips over their smooth surface and felt her fingertips tingle. She dropped her hand to the magic amulet she had been given by a templar when she had been so young, so naive. They had kissed once. She barely recalled his features. He had been handsome. Tongue tied. Not much older than she. She wondered what had happened to him.

She picked up and set aside the rings that still made her palms itch with the power they contained.

And a dark red rose. It's petals were dry and fragile. It sat before a painting, just a small one, of a man who smiled at her from the carved frame. She touched the angular planes of his face, the curve of his lips, the mischievous light of his eyes. Not for the first time, her heart ached for what could never have been. She swallowed the lump that threatened to choke her. Thirteen years since she had seen this man.

And she still missed him.

Solana Amell, ex Warden Commander of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, closed the door of the narrow cabinet and with a wave of her hand, shut the chapter once again on her past. It only hurt her when she opened it, but this time of the year it was harder than most.

She hoped he had found some measure of happiness after the day she had broken his heart. She had given up the man so that he might be the King that their country desperately needed. She had given him up to a woman who really didn't deserve him - his kindness, his strength, his sweetness. She had given him up, and once the Grey Wardens had been rebuilt, she had walked away.

She had taken their daughter, and gone far away from the gossip of the court. And that part she did not regret. It would have only made it more difficult had he known he had a daughter. Had he sired a child with his …wife? Of course he had. That was the whole damn point. Bloodlines and nobility.

She would stay away. That was best. He hadn't tried to see her once she had told him it was best they ended it. She had only sent him reports via her seneschal, from both the Wardens and Amaranthine. They were no longer part of each other's lives. That was fine by her. Totally fine. Wynne didn't need to know that her real father was the King of Ferelden. She believed her father to be a soldier lost during the Fifth Blight, and Solana had never corrected her - which was wrong. But nor could she tell her the truth. At least, not yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Three Years Later**

Solana stirred the coals of the campfire, moodily staring into the glowing flames. The stew she had prepared bubbled cheerily in its pot, the scent of warmly spiced meat drifting over the campsite. She glanced up as her hound lifted his head from his paws. She laid a hand upon his back, brushing the coarse hair, and missed her old, long dead mabari, Skhol.

A tall, slender young woman coalesced out of the gathering gloom that came with dusk. She laid a brace of rabbit upon a stone and lowered herself to sit beside Solana.

"How many?" Solana asked.

"Snares got four, I shot the fifth on the run."

"Alveros will be happy with the break from deer."

"Yeah." Wynne leaned back on her elbows, crossing her long legs at the ankles.

"Happy birthday." Solana picked up the wrapped gift and handed it to her daughter.

Wynne's lovely face beamed with a smile. "Wow. Thanks." She eagerly unwrapped the silk ribbon and linen wrappings and lapsed into silence. Her mouth was open in a small _oh_ of surprise.

"I thought it might be useful," Solana said softly. "I carried it with me for a long time and it served me well."

Wynne studied the dagger, the etchings on the hilt, the jewels embedded in the quillions. "It feels heavy." She pulled it from it's heavily tooled leather scabbard, battered and stained with old blood.

"Yes." Solana nodded, and stared down at her hands linked tightly over her knee. The dagger had belonged to Alistair. He had given it to her before their last foray into battle together. It had spilled the blood of many darkspawn before and since. The decision to give Solana the dagger that had belonged to her father had been one she had struggled with, but watching her daughter's face as she studied the play of light over the sharp blade, she knew the decision had been made correctly.

"This is great. Seriously great, Mum." She looked up at Solana, her blue eyes bright with pleasure. She launched herself forward as she hadn't done since she was a child and wrapped her arms around Solana's neck. "Thank you." Her voice was muffled as she buried her face into her mother's shoulder. Solana was startled at first, and then wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her close.

"Ahh, it's alright." Solana murmured into the rich golden blonde strands covering her daughters head.

* * *

><p>They returned home at first light, the hunting trip part of Wynne's birthday present. The estate house was quiet, the coiling smoke of the fires being prodded to life drifting from the chimney's. Mist swirled across the ground, shifting and coiling as the two women swept across the muddy ground, their cloaks wrapped up against the chill of the air.<p>

Solana stilled. There was a carriage in the stable yard. She narrowed her eyes. She didn't recognise the insignia.

"Take these to the kitchens. It looks like we have guests." Solana handed Wynne the brace of rabbits she carried. "Maybe take the hounds to the woods for a while. I want to be sure who it is."

"Alright." Wynne frowned at her mother, but did as she was bade. She headed for the kitchens, her long stride eating up the distance.

Solana strode up the stairs to the main doors. Two guards stood at attention.

"Who comes?" she asked the one on the right - Malcolm, she recalled his name.

"'Tis Commander Cullen Rutherford and Bann Trevelyan, my lady."

Solana stilled. _The Inquisitor and her husband came here? _She narrowed her eyes. No one in the capital had bothered her in years. "Thank you."

The doors opened and she strode within, the ragged hems of her cloak sweeping the flagstone floors.

She could hear the sound of voices in the lesser hall and knew her guests waited for her within. She glanced down at her hunting leathers. Tough. She wasn't expecting visitors and she sure as hell wasn't going to make them wait while she had a bath and changed into clothing suitable to meet the current darlings of Ferelden.

Solana paused outside the room, took a few calming breaths. She would greet them politely, give them a report and see them on their way. They would never have to see Wynne. She nodded at the footman who opened the door and she strode in, stripping her gloves from her hands.

Evelyn Trevelyan stood as Solana entered. Solana winced at the contrast they provided. The elegantly clad Inqusitor she knew by reputation only, and had heard tell of her loveliness. Nothing had prepared her for the force of nature that stood in her lesser hall. She was exquisitely dressed in a robe heavily embroidered with gold and silver thread. The scar bisecting her brow did nothing to detract from the direct, intelligent gaze from those grey eyes.

Slower to stand was her companion and husband, Cullen Rutherford. Solana inwardly smiled. She had once kissed him in a rash moment after her Harrowing. He had stumbled over his tongue, stuttered and fumbled his way through speaking to her. It would seem he had changed his mind about mages in the years since he had condemned all her kind. Marrying one and all.

"Solana Amell," Cullen was the first to speak, a smile curving his lips.

Solana resolved to be distant to them both. She wanted them gone. "I was not expecting guests. I'm afraid I have only just returned myself."

"Yes, from hunting." The sharp gaze of the Inquisitor regarded Solana thoughtfully. "I would not have though the Arlessa of Amaranthine would have need of such things. And with bow and arrow too."

"I no longer practice magic," Solana said sharply. "And I am Arlessa as an honorary title only. The true command of this region comes from Vigil's Keep."

"Where you also served as Warden Commander." The Inquisitor lifted a dark brow.

Solana crossed her arms over her chest, lapsing into silence.

The Inquisitor and Cullen shared a puzzled glance. Still she did not speak.

"Have you been well?" Cullen ventured, breaking the silence.

Solana tamped down on the instinct to be friendly. For all their reputation, they seemed warm. She couldn't risk it.

"You have come this far to enquire after my health?"

"Hells, Solana," Cullen snapped. The Inquisitor laid her hand on his arm. He covered her hand with his own. In a quieter tone he said, "We are travelling north of here. It was requested that we take a small detour to find out how you are going."

"Requested by who?" _As if she didn't know._

"His Majesty was concerned that he had not heard news of Amaranthine in a few months."

"No he wasn't," Solana was blunt. "I send reports through my seneschal. And I imagine Vigil's Keep is prompt."

They shared another glance. The Inquisitor sat back down, her lips twisted in a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

"He said you were stubborn," she drawled.

"To say the least," Cullen added.

"But…" The Inquisitor leaned forward, "He didn't say you were this unpleasant."

Solana blinked, and recovered. "I wasn't aware 'pleasantness' was a requirement of the nobility."

Cullen grinned then. "No. It really isn't. And the hero of Ferelden has earned the right to be a little tetchy."

"I'm not…tetchy." Solana scowled, knowing full well that she kind of…was. She glared at the ground, unwilling to meet the curious gaze of her two guests. The stone was worn smooth from thousands of feet. A gleaming grey and brown that reflected the light from the fireplace. Bloody cold in winter though. She found her calm again. "How is he? His Majesty, I mean."

The reply came from Cullen. "Oh. He's alright." The reply made her glance up, so hesitant was it.

"What's wrong?" Solana asked, her hands white-knuckling on her biceps.

"It's his uncle, Bann Teagan," the Inquisitor said softly when Cullen hesitated again. "He is quite ill. The Bann was waylaid by bandits on his way to Redcliffe after visiting Denerim and was left to remain out in the elements for a couple of days. When his carriage was discovered, he had been unconscious for goodness knows how long. His Majesty is very worried."

Solana's fingers twisted in the fabric of her shirt, and she had to struggle to modulate her voice into the cool unconcern she had to adopt. "My sympathies. Bann Teagan is a good man."

"Very good," Cullen agreed. "The whole castle went into deep mourning when his wife Katrina passed of a fever last year."

"Oh. I didn't know." Solana winced. She hesitated and finally relented. "I suppose such an event makes a man, even a King, concerned for the welfare of old friends."

"Exactly," Cullen confirmed with relief. "That's just as it is. He cannot come himself, but he trusts us to report back that you are hale and hearty, if not…tetchy."

Solana gave a small smile despite herself. "You have gotten a sense of humour in the past sixteen years, Templar."

"And you lost yours, Mage." Cullen grinned at her, taking the sting from the tease.

"The Grey Wardens aren't known for their sense of humour," Solana tried to keep her lips from twitching again.

"It must be all that dour righteousness."

"Speak for yourself," she snorted, finally breaking into her first burst of laughter.

The Inquisitor watched the exchange with amusement in her eyes.

"Join me for dinner," Solana said. "Our table is simple, but tonight we have fresh rabbit. Our snares were full."

"Thank you." The Inquisitor smiled. "Have you somewhere I can wash up?"

"You can make use of our guest quarters." Solana glanced at a footman who nodded. "Erik here will show you the way. I need to wash up. Dinner will be at seven. Please take a walk in the grounds if you wish, I have some business to take care of first."

* * *

><p>The Inquisitor walked arm in arm with her husband through the sprawling gardens that had been turned over for vegetables and fruits. Few flowers remained, as the garden beds were being set for winter.<p>

"What do you think?" she said softly.

Cullen shrugged, releasing her arm to wrap his around her waist, drawing her against him with easy affection. "She's different. Not so honest and open."

"A lot of time has passed," she observed.

"True." He nodded, and paused. "She won't go to Denerim will she?"

"No. I don't think so."

"And no longer practicing magic?" Cullen frowned. "Can you do that?"

"With a great strength of will, you can. And I believe that Solana Amell has nothing if not great strength of will."

"To go from being a rival for the First Enchanter in power, to this? Hunting with bow and arrow?" Cullen was dubious.

"She must have had great reason for it." The Inquisitor shrugged.

Cullen rumbled something unintelligible and they walked in silence for a time, skirting the house to look over where the woods approached the stream some thirty metres away. Cullen stopped, his eyes narrowing. His wife placed her hand upon his chest, stilling his forward movement.

"Who is that?" His voice was barely above a whisper, as though it would disturb the vision.

It was a girl, mayhap sixteen. She was tall, slender with tumbling golden blonde hair. She was walking with three hounds over the bridge toward the house. She was dressed in hunting leathers. Solana's hair had turned white when she was still a young maid, but for that, she was the image of Solana when Cullen had first met her on his transfer to the Circle of Magi.

"Just a daughter of one of the servants, perhaps?" The Inquisitor suggested hesitantly.

Cullen hummed.

As the girl drew closer, Cullen drew in a sharp breath. The Inquisitors hand curled into a fist on his bicep. The girl glanced at them both with bright, clear blue eyes that were the very image of very sad eyes they had looked into just recently.

The girl nodded, bobbed a jerky curtsey as though the gesture were one she had been told about but rarely practiced. "Sir, ma'am." And without waiting for a returned greeting, continued on, the hounds bounding ahead to the stables.

"Is that…" The Inquisitor let out the breath she had been holding.

Cullen stared after the girl. "Maybe we are mistaken? It could just be coincidence?"

"Fifteen or so. Blue eyes. Image of her mother." The Inquisitor commented drily. "Lot of coincidences."

"Do we tell him?"

The Inquisitor drew her hand over her face, scrubbing uncertainly. "Is it really our place?"

"You know what's happened."

"Still…"

"But Solana…"

"Maybe there is another way…" The Inquisitor rested her head on her husband's solid shoulder. "Maybe."


	3. Chapter 3

**Four Months Later**

Solana accepted the missive from her seneschal, Rogan. She thanked him and returned to her desk. She eased herself down into the worn leather chair and stared at the writing on the front.

His penmanship had improved somewhat. The seal was a heavy blob of red wax that she hesitated to break. She had no clue what it would contain, but it worried her nonetheless.

"I'm heading to bed, Mum. See you in the morning." Wynne stood in her doorway, her white kitten in hand, a slender wraith in the nimbus of light cast by firelight and candlelight.

"Sleep well." Solana smiled at her daughter.

"You too." Wynne nuzzled the kitten, who batted at her nose with a fuzzy paw.

When left alone, Solana picked up the envelope again, studying the spiky script inscribing her name on the heavy paper. She stared across the room at the flames guttering low in the hearth.

Finally, by the light of the low candle beside her, she broke the seal and read the words from the only man she had ever loved.

And her face turned pale.

* * *

><p>"Mum? What's wrong?" Wynne sat upon the boulder beside her mother. They looked out upon the countryside to the north. To the distant walls of the city. To their back was the dark woods of Amaranthine.<p>

Solana rested her outstretched arm upon her bent knee, leaning back upon the other hand. She looked askance at her beautiful daughter.

"I have been summoned to the capital."

"To Denerim? Why?"

Solana hesitated.

"Mother?"

"The King wishes to speak to me."

"To you?" Wynne frowned. "He has never shown interest before."

"I don't know." Solana shook her head. "I need you to stay here."

Wynne stilled. "I can't come? Why not?"

"Denerim is not somewhere I want you to go just yet. Maybe when you are older."

"I'm fifteen, Mother. Don't you think that is old enough?" Wynne's voice was a little edged with steel now. Solana sighed at the thought of the fight that was to come.

"Denerim pays no mind to your age, Wynne, nor will the people in it."

"It is hardly my fault I have gone nowhere further afield than Amaranthine City." Wynne scowled.

"Are you unhappy?" Solana asked softly.

Wynne opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative. Solana could see the light of it in her eyes, before the basic honesty of her nature took over. "No. This is my home. I do love it. But I want to see something of the world too."

"There will be time enough for that, my darling." Solana reached out and touched Wynne's head. "I promise. This will be a journey of several days and I will remain no longer than the time it takes to speak to the King, then I will return. Perhaps next year we will journey north, see something of Ferelden."

Wynne considered the reply and then nodded. "Alright."

"There is much to be done here. You are in charge while I'm gone."

Wynne's lips twitched. "I think Rogan might have something to say about that."

Solana smiled. "He always has plenty to say about everything."

"So…two weeks then?" Wynne asked, a little mournfully. "You haven't been gone that long before."

"I have, darling girl, but you were too young to remember."

Wynne disconsolately leaned her chin on her hand. "Fine."

* * *

><p>Solana waved at Wynne from her carriage window, watching her daughter blowing kisses, surrounded by hounds. She would be back soon. She leaned back on the seat. Soon.<p>

Denerim was, at the heart of it, still the same. Warfare and civil strife had changed little of the basic architecture of the buildings or the hearts of the people. She stared out of the window at their faces, watching for anyone that was familiar and couldn't decide whether she wished she could see someone, or would prefer not to.

"Straight to the inn, please," she said to the driver.

She wanted to bathe and change before heading to the Castle.

* * *

><p>She stared at the outfit she had chosen to meet Alistair. A simple dress. Forest green. She looked good in green. She groaned and rubbed her brow. Why the hell should it matter what she looked good in?<p>

She was still fit, though there were a few wrinkles around the eyes now. Her hair had always been silver, so … that wouldn't be such a surprise. She wondered what he looked like now. Fifteen years would inevitably bring change. She pulled the dress over her head, and smoothed the fabric into place. She fastened a wide leather belt around her hips and tugged on her comfortable old boots. The skirts would hide them. She wanted something that was familiar.

She took a last glance in the mirror before leaving. Good enough. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her looking a lot worse anyway. Months of camping did that to a person.

* * *

><p>Wynne slid off the back of her horse and stared around her. Denerim was huge. She always felt like Amaranthine was big. But that was just a little town compared to this place. And on the horizon she could see the castle. Stay away from there. Check.<p>

The people ignored her. Brushing past like she was nobody. To be honest, she probably was a nobody. Griff, the hound she had brought with her, huddled close to her legs, whining a little in fear at the sheer amount of people.

A commotion up ahead caught her attention, and curiosity got the better of her. She strolled up, hanging onto the reins of her mount and made her way through the gathering crowd.

The kid was probably thirteen. He had a light blonde fuzz on his chin, and the light of cruel amusement in his eyes. He wore richly embroidered robes and had an impressive sword girt to his hip. He stood over an old man, fists bunched on his hips. There was a mocking lilt to his voice as he spoke.

"Come on. Pick it up. I won't stop you."

The old man's shaking hand reached out for the small pouch in the dust at his feet. Quick as a snake, the lad rapped his knuckles with a stick. The lad laughed.

Wynne saw red.

The crowd had gathered, but no one was laughing. No one was stopping the brat either. She dropped the reins and shoved through the crowd to the protests of many. She stood on the edge of the clearing. As the lad reached out with his stick again, Wynne nocked an arrow and fired at the dirt between the lad and the old man. The old man cried out and scurried back, the lad shrieked his fear.

Wynne strode forward, picked up the pouch and tossed it toward the old man. She yanked her arrow out of the ground and shoved it back into her quiver.

"You should all be ashamed," she snapped at the wide eyed crowd, barely hearing the murmurings. "And you, you pathetic little weasel." She strode toward the lad who stumbled back a few steps, his hand going to his sword and moving to pull it out. She yanked the dagger her mother had given her from its sheath. "I wouldn't, you little coward."

"A-a-arrest her!" the lad squeaked, his voice breaking in his fear.

Wynne frowned. "What?" She whirled around and came face to face with two heavily armoured knights, swords drawn.

"Drop the dagger," one of them snarled.

Wynne complied. The dagger rang as it struck a stone. One of the knights took her bow and arrows, then bent to pick up the dagger, while the other knight bound her arms.

"You shouldn't have interfered, girl." The lad had gained some bravery now.

Wynne stared down her nose at him. "I would do it again, you ridiculous little twerp."

"You are going to wish you hadn't!" His voice rose sharply.

She could have sworn she heard one of the knight's sigh.

"Let's go." One of the knight's rumbled. "Come with us, Your Highness. Your father will wish to hear about what happened."

Oh hell. Wynne swallowed. Your Highness.


	4. Chapter 4

Wynne silently marched alongside the knights, refusing to answer their questions. Fear coiled in her gut, but she still held on to the righteous anger in her heart. The lad…the Prince…strolled alongside, making smart little comments every few minutes. She couldn't read the faces of the knights, but somehow knew they did not like the boy.

They entered through a guardhouse and she was made to follow as they entered the castle. She stared up at its battlements in wonder. She had never seen such a building before, aside from the books her mother kept in their library. But to see it in real life.

"Oh my…" she breathed.

"You haven't seen a castle before?" one of the knights asked kindly.

"No. I'm not from here." She almost stumbled at she turned her head to look up at the portcullis they went through. "It's bigger than I thought. Our whole house could fit in that guard tower."

"Poor little country bumpkin," the lad mocked.

Wynne ignored him.

She was made to wait in a small antechamber, manacled to a chair. The Princeling accompanied the knights and she was left alone. She examined the room. It was an office, that much was apparent. A large desk occupied most of it, covered in reports and maps. There were paintings on the walls. She arched her neck to stare at them. A qurnari, a dwarf, a mage, a priestess. There were others, she was sure, but manacled down, she couldn't see them.

Left for a while, she studied the manacles. They were heavy and rubbed painfully on her wrists, despite the bracers she worse. She gave a faint smile. She was pretty sure she could pick them. Zev had taught her how. She had been his star pupil, he had said, even better than her mother. She was just checking the hinges to be certain when the door to the office opened and a man entered.

He was tall, blonde, somewhere around her mother's age. He was quite plainly dressed, breeches tucked into battered boots, a tunic belted at his lean hips. He carried with him her bow, quiver and dagger and set them on the table.

"Who are you?" he asked, his expression carefully neutral.

Wynne chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. Maybe he was a captain of the guard or something. Maybe she could explain? The kid was an ass. Maybe this guy would be sympathetic.

"My name is Wynne." She tilted her chin proudly.

"And why did you shoot an arrow at the Prince?"

"He was being a jerk to some old guy in the marketplace. Striking him with a stick like he thought him a dog to be beaten." Wynne couldn't stop her voice expressing her rage.

"And you shot him?"

"No." Wynne shook her head in protest. "I shot between them. I didn't want to hit either of them."

"And you are that good a shot?" One blonde brow arched in query.

"Yes." Wynne nodded proudly.

"Who taught you?"

"Well I had a couple of teachers. An elf called Zev taught me most of all, but my mother made me practice whether I wanted to or not. Then I always wanted to."

"The Prince says you threatened him with a dagger."

Wynne shrugged. "He was going for his sword. He looked more like he would cut himself on the sharp edge than know what to do with it."

The corner of the man's mouth quirked, just a little. "He has been trained by the best of the knights here."

"Well they should have worked on his manners then," Wynne snapped, and looked immediately chagrined.

He picked up the dagger and drew it from it's sheath. He studied the blade. Wynne took the moment to study him. He had an odd expression on his face, and when he rammed the sharp blade back into its housing and straightened, she looked at him questioningly.

"What's going to happen to me?" she asked, the prickling of fear making her feel ill. "And…who are you?"

"To be decided. I need to speak to someone first." He strode for the door. "And my name is Alistair."

Wynne swallowed against her dry throat. Alistair? That was the king?

She wanted her mother.

* * *

><p>Solana walked slowly through the grand hall, trailing the footman who escorted her by a few paces. She itched to stride her usual pace, after all, she knew this place pretty well. She scowled at the tapestries that hung on the bleak stone. The last place she wanted to be.<p>

The footman gestured for her to take a seat in a small alcove.

"His Majesty is detained for the moment. He will not be long. Can I get you anything?"

"No. Thank you."

Solana did not sit though. She moved to one of the massive windows and studied the city, her hands linked behind her. She was not left waiting long. The sound of a door closing, followed by rapid footsteps on the flagstones had her turning around.

And there he was. Dressed plainly, as she remembered him. Silver threaded in his short blonde locks. Deep creases scored his eyes. He looked weary, but still held himself tall, still strong.

"Your Majesty," she sank into a curtsey.

"Solana," Alistair's voice was gruff. "Don't. Don't curtsey. Not to me."

He approached and Solana straightened. He pulled a dagger from his belt and laid it on the windowsill beside her. She followed his movements and panic sang in her veins.

"Wynne…" her voice was strangled gasp. She looked wildly at Alistair.

"She's fine." He said, laying a hand upon her arm. "She is here."

"What is she doing here?" Solana's voice trembled. "She was at home."

"Who is she, Solana?" Alistair didn't release her arm. "Who is Wynne? That name can't be a coincidence."

"She is my daughter. Where is she? Is she hurt?"

"Wynne is your daughter." His voice gave her pause and she looked into his eyes. "She is fine. She tried to intervene in an incident…with my son."

Solana groaned and sat down on the windowsill beside the dagger she now clutched in her hands.

"Solana." Alistair's voice made her look up. "She has my eyes."

Solana closed her eyes, shuttering the view of his stricken face.

"Is she ours?" he asked.

Solana hesitated. This was not going the way she had intended.

"Is that girl in there our daughter?" he pressed again, moving to stand just shy of her legs, looking down at her with serious intent.

"Yes," Solana whispered. "She is."

Alistair's hand curved over her cheek and she pulled back. His hand dropped and he crouched down at her feet.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked fiercely.

"I couldn't." Solana set aside the dagger and clenched her hands tightly in her lap. "You had to focus on saving Ferelden. You had to marry Anora and make peace amongst the nobles. You had to do the right thing." Her chin was in serious danger of wobbling at the look on his face.

"The right thing?" He rested a hand on either side of her hips upon the windowsill and bowed his head. "The right thing…"

Solana reached out. She couldn't help herself. She touched his hair with a featherlight caress. "Alistair."

His voice was faintly muffled. "How old is she?"

"Sixteen."

He was silent for a time. Then: "It was that last night, wasn't it? We made love that last time and you left me."

"Yes," she said.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes bright. "Once it was all done, why didn't you tell me? I should have known."

"I couldn't." Solana touched his brow, tracing her thumb over the frown that seemed to settle there with ease. "I couldn't bring Wynne here. Not with Anora, and the spectre of who I was to you hanging around. You needed a clean slate, and my daughter deserved one. How could I explain to her that she was the bastard daughter of a king?"

"She is the daughter of my heart, Solana."

"You have a son, Alistair," Solana reminded him sharply. "I recalled hearing of his birth."

"He is not my blood. I am bringing him up the best I can with his mother now taking lovers in Orlais."

"Not…your blood?" Solana was confused.

"Anora grew impatient with my hesitation in the bedchamber." Alistair shrugged. "I did not desire her, and she was a harpy who reminded me every day I was not the equal of her late husband. She took lovers. Antivan. Orlesian. Any of them could have done the deed. He is blonde enough so I suspect Orlais, though it could have just as easily been any of the young swains who paid her court in those days."

"Oh Alistair." Solana touched his hand and squeezed it. His fingers caught hers and held them within a firm grasp.

"I should have told them all to go to hell," he growled. "I should have said that you would be my wife and that was the end of it."

Solana smiled, a little sadly. "You know that is not possible, Alistair. Not then. And not now, even after everything that has happened." She gazed at their linked hands. "You are the king. And you have obligations. Expectations."

Alistair rose to his full height and leaned forward. His face drew close and her breath caught. Though the years had tempered his youth he was still achingly handsome. "What I have is a faithless wife whom I have not seen in four years. A son who grows wilder and more arrogant. A crown that I despise because of what I had to give up to wear it. And a heart that never stopped loving one woman."

Solana caught his face between her palms and brought her lips to his. He was startled at first, then his long, strong, so familiar arms wrapped around her and it was as though the past decade and a half fell away. She came to her feet and he drew her against him, their lips never breaking. They drank deeply of one another, breathing the other's scent and when they broke apart, Solana's eyes were slumberous and his own dazed.

"Please, don't leave me again," he said hoarsely. "I couldn't bear it."

Solana touched his lips with her fingertips. A long silence stretched between them. "I want to see Wynne."

Alistair released her gently. "Of course. She is in my office."

Solana rested her hand over his heart. "I promise we will speak again, but I need to see to my daughter. Is she going to be punished?"

Alistair shook his head. "No. I could not."

"Thank you."

"What will you tell her?"

She hated extinguishing the hope in his eyes. "Nothing. Not yet."

"Fair enough." He nodded jerkily.

"You have to understand, Alistair. It has been Wynne and I for the past fifteen years. Today is not the day to reveal her father is still alive. Please. I need a little more time."

"I could never refuse you anything." Alistair gave her a shaky smile.

Solana stepped back out of his embrace. "Thank you, Alistair."


	5. Chapter 5

"Mum? Mummy?" Wynne went to stand and was brought up short by the manacles.

"You manacled her?" Solana questioned Alistair furiously.

"I did not know who she was," Alistair said calmly. "My knights were doing their job."

He bent over the manacles and using a small key, opened them. Wynne pushed past Alistair and threw herself into her mother's arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just wanted to see Denerim. I hate it here. I hate it. I want to go home." She buried her face in her mother's neck. Solana wrapped her arms around Wynne and met Alistair's gaze. She kissed the top of her daughter's head.

"We are going home, darling. I promise." She stroked Wynne's hair to calm the storm.

Alistair leaned back on his desk, arms crossed, waiting. Wynne's sobbing abated and she drew back, swiping her hands over her eyes to clear them.

"I want you to meet someone," Solana said gently, using her thumb to brush aside an errant tear on her daughter's cheek. She gestured at Alistair. "This is Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden."

Wynne eyed him warily, before dipping a wobbly curtsey. "Your..Majesty."

"My lady," Alistair placed his hand upon his breast and bowed. "You have your mother's beauty."

"And her aim," Wynne said tartly. "You don't look much like a king."

"No. It has been said." His smile was wry.

"I thought you all dressed in shining armour and carried massive swords." She studied his plain sense of dress with a critical though not entirely disapproving eye.

"It is hard to get work done when one is dressed in thirty kilograms of hammered steel."

"Why did you summon Mother here?" Wynne asked curiously.

Solana shot him a warning glance. Alistair hesitated.

"We were friends. Once," he said finally.

Wynne turned to look at Solana with widened eyes. "You were friends with a King? You never said…"

"I wasn't the King then," Alistair said.

"Then…" Wynne gestured vaguely. Solana felt sorry for the girl, getting a crash course in her mother's past. The questions from this would be difficult to answer.

"I was a Grey Warden," Alistair said quietly, watching his daughter's face.

Wynne laughed. "Don't be silly. Kings can't be Grey Wardens."

Solana brushed her hand over her daughter's head. "No, darling, but Grey Warden's can become Kings."

"How come you were with the Grey Wardens?" Wynne turned her luminous gaze on her mother.

Solana winced. "I…was a Grey Warden."

Wynne laughed again, clearly disbelieving. "This is a joke, right? You aren't a Grey Warden. They travel around fighting demons and dark spawn and have adventures." She watched Solana glance at Alistair, who was regarding Wynne cautiously.

Solana raised her eyes to the ceiling, praying to the Maker for assistance. And her gaze fell upon a painting. She gave a crooked smile, tempered by a shard of sadness.

"You remember Zev, darling?" Solana asked her daughter.

"Of course," Solana enthused. "He taught me…" her voice trailed off as she looked in the direction of her mother's pointing finger. The painting was of her old friend, the handsome, irascible elf who had taught her to shoot a bow through the eye of a needle. Her mouth opened in shock.

"His full name was Zevran Arainai. He was an Antivan Crow. An assassin who joined us for a time."

"I …what?" Wynne frowned. "An assassin?"

"That is Wynne. You were named for her." Solana indicated the white haired woman who smiled calmly at her from the painting. She still mourned the passing of the woman who had provided counsel for so many years. Who had helped when she gave birth to her daughter. "She was a powerful mage. She died soon after you were born."

Wynne glanced at Alistair again, as though seeking confirmation. He remained impassive.

"Sten. He was a Qurnari warrior. Brave and stoic. He became a close ally. Morrigan." Solana glanced at Alistair. "A witch of the wilds. An apostate mage. She and His Majesty never got along."

"To say the least," Alistair muttered drily.

"Leliana. A priestess from the Chantry. Oghren, a dwarf lord of Orzimmar." Solana smiled fondly at those two. She sighed. "And at the end there. Me. These are charming portraits, Alistair."

"A reminder, Solana," he said quietly.

* * *

><p>Wynne walked the length of the room to study the painting of what was clearly her mother. She stared up. Her mother was young there. Short white hair, revealing angular features. Wide, amused grey eyes. Pale brown tattoos in an intricate scroll over her brow and cheeks. And she bore not a bow an arrow as she would have thought, but a staff of such beauty she couldn't help but wonder at it and robes of heavily inscribed brown leather and green silk. She was surrounded by an aura that spoke of her power.<p>

Wynne turned to look at her mother. She tried to see the woman before her in the Grey Warden of the painting. Her hair was longer, still that silvery grey. Her eyes had several lines scored around them. Her mother was strong, capable, calm, but she had never once seen her use magic.

"You are a mage?" Wynne's voice was very quiet.

"Yes," Solana said simply.

"But you don't…" Wynne waved her hands.

"Practice? No. Not anymore."

Alistair reached out and touched Solana on the arm. Wynne watched the gesture with narrowed eyes.

"This is …too much." Wynne shook her head.

* * *

><p>"Father?" A youthful voice interrupted their conversation, and the lad Wynne had clashed with earlier that day came sauntering in. "Why isn't she in the dungeons?"<p>

Alistair straightened and faced the boy. "Because I am letting her go."

"But she attacked me!"

"And you were a fool, Petyr," Alistair said bluntly. "You were being a bastard to an old man and by all accounts, Wynne Amell was the only one to step forward and defend him."

"Father! That's unfair. You believe a complete stranger over your only son?" The lad's face was reddening with anger.

"I believe the daughter of the Hero of Ferelden, Petyr." Alistair was scowling. "She did not attack you. She wanted to stop you from hurting an old man. I am ashamed of your behaviour."

* * *

><p>Solana watched the exchange between father and son. Wynne had reached for her mother's hand and clutched it tightly. She seemed to sense that something fragile hung in the balance here.<p>

"I hate you." Petyr was almost purple with rage. "You drove away mother. I hate you. You don't ever believe me." He stormed from the room.

Alistair leaned wearily back on his desk and pressed his fingertips into his closed eyes. "I think you should go," he said tiredly. "I hope that you will come to see me before you leave, Solana, but I understand if you do not."

Solana kissed Wynne on the temple. "Go wait for me outside the door, love. I will be right with you. I wish to speak with His Majesty for a moment."

Wynne hesitated. "No one will bother me?"

"No. They won't," Alistair said bleakly. "No one will bother you again."

Wynne nodded. "Can I take my bow?"

Alistair nodded and held out the dagger also. "Here. This is yours."

Wynne took it. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Alistair opened his mouth to say something. Closed it. Then said: "You're welcome, Wynne. Maker go with you."

"And you, Your Majesty." Wynne curtsied.

Solana closed the door behind the girl and turned back to Alistair.

"Thank you. Bear with me, Alistair. I will tell her the truth one day."

Alistair straightened and approached. He cupped her cheek in one hand that shook slightly. "She is beautiful. Like her mother."

Solana smiled faintly. "And honourable like her father."

Alistair lowered his head and kissed her briefly. "Will you come see me before you leave?"

"Do you think that is a good idea? Really?" Solana placed her hand over his heart. "I spent fifteen years trying to get over you."

Alistair studied her face. "Did it work? Are you?"

Solana curled her hand into a fist, wrinkling the fabric beneath her fingers. "You know it didn't. But it doesn't matter. You are still the King. You are still married."

Alistair's gaze lifted to stare at the portraits upon the wall. "Yes. I know."

Solana stepped back, regret etched on her features. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

He nodded. "I understand."

She turned to head for the door, resting her hand on the handle. "Goodbye, Alistair."

"Goodbye, Solana."

She closed the door, refusing to turn around. Her heart ached. She wrapped an arm around her daughter and they left the opulent interior of Denerim Castle.


	6. Chapter 6

Solana closed the door to the suite in the Inn. She pressed her hand to the cool wood, delaying the conversation she had to have for just a few more moments. She turned around, and regarded her daughter with a severe expression. The girl stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, her bow and quiver resting on the bed.

"I asked you to remain at home," she said flatly.

Wynne stared down at her feet, shamefaced. "I'm sorry. I wanted so badly to see Denerim."

"And I would have shown it to you," Solana approached slowly, her hands clasped before her, steadying their subtle shaking. "One day. You defied me."

"Yes." Wynne's cheeks reddened. "But you lied to me."

Solana stilled. "I beg your pardon?"

"You never told me you were a Grey Warden. I didn't know you were a mage." She looked up at her mother, her eyes wide and sparkling with tears.

"And that was in my past, Wynne. I wanted to protect you from all of that."

"Why? Being a Grey Warden is something to be proud of."

Solana lowered herself onto the couch. She patted the cushion beside her. "Sit with me."

Wynne sat beside Solana and tucked her feet up under her, as she had done since she was a child.

Solana stared at her hands for a moment, recalling the power that had once flowed from them. "I nearly died fighting the darkspawn, Wynne. It was not high adventure. It was not fun. It was frightening. I would have nightmares. When I found out I was pregnant with you, I decided to start a new life. To leave the old one behind me."

"What about the Grey Wardens? I read some stories about them when I was a child. I thought when you became a Warden, you became one for life."

Solana ran her hand down her daughter's hair, smoothing the tumbling waves. "Normally. Yes. Normally, when one becomes a Grey Warden, you fight until death. And that death often comes early. But when I killed the Archdemon, the taint within me was destroyed. I no longer had a connection to the darkspawn and my usefulness as a Grey Warden had come to an end. I stood as Warden Commander within Vigil's Keep for a time, rebuilding the Wardens. And once my task was done, I came home to you."

Wynne frowned at her mother. "What of the king? If he was a Grey Warden, does he still have this taint?"

Solana swallowed. "I don't know, Wynne."

"So he could still die?" Her daughter asked innocently. "Early, I mean. He didn't kill the Archdemon, so he still has that stuff in his blood, right?"

"Yes." Solana said softly. "I suppose he could still die."

"That's bad. I liked him. He seemed…nice, you know?"

"He is." Solana kissed Wynne on the temple. "He is nice."

"Will you see him before we leave? It's not like you got to talk about whatever you were meant to talk about before I screwed up."

"I don't think so," Solana shook her head.

"I think you should," Wynne said emphatically. "I think if you were friends then you should do the right thing. Maybe you won't ever see him again once we go back to Amaranthine. You would feel bad, right?"

"Yes. I would feel bad," Solana said, tears gathering in her eyes, her throat becoming tight.

"I promise I won't leave the inn. I do. I don't want to go back out there, not on my own. I don't even know where my horse and Griff is." Her lips trembled.

"We will find them. I can ask the guard to keep an eye out, perhaps."

"You should go back tonight," Wynne said, clutching her mother's hand tightly. "He looked very sad. It didn't seem right to leave him sad. And he only has that awful boy as his family."

Solana cupped Wynne's cheek. "You are the best of girls, you know that?"

Wynne wrinkled her nose. "I have a bit to make up for."

"Yes, you do," Solana smiled. "But we can work on it."


	7. Chapter 7

OOC - for the previous chapter, that is my head canon reason why the Warden is where she is in my story. I know its not game canon.

OOC2 - a little bit of sexytime for these two.

* * *

><p>Solana chewed on her lower lip, staring up at the lantern lit grand stairs to the front doors of the castle with no small amount of trepidation. The flames were guttering in the braziers lining the walk as a zephyr swept through the courtyard, lifting the hem of her cloak into a shadowy nimbus around her. She shivered, glancing up to anchor herself by the stars. They were the same stars as at Amaranthine. This was real.<p>

The stairs were interminable and at the top, the guards scrutinised her curiously, but did not halt her entrance. She supposed she didn't have to wonder why. Not really. One held the door open for her. She was met in the front hall by a lovely slender woman with dark brown hair in intricate braids surrounding her head.

"Arlessa. You are most welcome. I am, Aelfwyn, one of the King's stewards. He is out in the courtyard at the moment. Please, will you follow me?" Aelfwyn moved gracefully through the lower rooms, Solana in tow.

Solana pressed a hand to her belly. It was tied in knots. She darted glances left and right. Servants moved throughout, doing whatever servants do. Guardsmen in stoic silence held their vigil.

The courtyard was a small one. Trees and tiny delicate flowers perfumed the cool night air. More lanterns cast golden light over the narrow path. Aelfwyn smiled at her and gestured silently for Solana to precede her and just as silently left.

Solana followed the narrow path, and rounding a corner, drew to a halt.

There was an arbour backed up to the wall. White silk walls were glowing golden from light within. A weathered table and comfortable wing chairs were positioned within. The detritus from a meal was scattered over the surface and the man she had come to see was reading a book, a goblet in hand. She took the moment to study him in repose. He had rid himself of his tunic and only wore a simple white undershirt. His breeches were loose, brown cotton tucked into worn leather boots.

He glanced up as she took a step nearer, and she watched first surprise, then pleasure and to her chagrin, the wariness settle over his lean features.

"Alistair," she murmured softly by way of greeting.

He set down the book and the goblet and rose to his feet. "Solana."

Silence echoed between them until he broke it. "I did not expect to see you."

"I know." Solana twisted her hands together at her waist, under cover of the cloak. She kept her expression schooled into equanimity with no small amount of effort. "If you wish quiet, I can return tomorrow?"

Alistair stepped forward. "Stay. Please." His eagerness overrode his caution. He hesitated, eyes drinking in her form. He gestured blindly. "Join me? I just had my evening meal but I have wine?"

Solana dug in for her courage. She approached him slowly. His bright gaze was fixed on her and he lowered his arm to his side. She lifted both palms and placed them on his chest. She felt his heart thundering in his chest, the beat strong and sure. She met his gaze. His expression was still wary and it made her unsure. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. When he didn't draw away, she brushed her thumb across his lips. She felt the lightest suction of a kiss and found hope.

"Why are you here?" he asked softly.

"I don't…know," Solana admitted. "But I couldn't leave without seeing you again."

His hands captured her waist beneath the cloak. "I'm glad you came back."

Solana chewed thoughtfully in her lower lip. Then: "Why did you summon me to the castle, Alistair?"

Alistair drew his brows together in a frown. "Rutherford and Trevelyan reported that you were doing well. Reported that Amaranthine was running as it should. That you had returned from hunting when they arrived." He lifted a hand from her waist to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "And I realised that I wanted to see you. I thought I had inured myself to your loss after the Blight. But I was wrong. One mention of your name, and my stomach tied up in knots."

Solana smiled faintly. "They must have been convincingly descriptive."

"They were." Alistair smiled wryly, his hand cupping her face.

"They said Teagan was ill."

"He was. Very. He almost died. And even now he does poorly."

"He is family to you."

"Yes." Alistair nodded. "And I couldn't bear losing another."

"Oh, Alistair." Solana curled her hand around his forearm. She turned her head and placed a kiss upon his palm. She sensed him draw in a sharp breath.

"How long do I have you?" His voice was tight. "Before you must go home."

"Tonight. Wynne and I return home tomorrow."

"Tonight?" His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her against him.

"Yes. Wynne knows that I will be gone many hours. She has promised not to leave the Inn."

"Smart girl."

"She got my brains." Solana smiled up at Alistair.

"Luckily," he smiled crookedly.

She pressed her lips to that smile, and a groan of pleasure murmured from his throat as he slanted his lips across hers, deepening the kiss. His hand cupped the back of her head, his other arm steadying her suddenly trembling knees. She curled her fist into the fabric of his shirt.

When the kiss broke, he murmured, "Will you be with me tonight?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>Alistair closed the door to his chamber and turned to watch Solana divest herself of her cloak. She wore the green dress from earlier, the deep, rich green making his heart ache with the memories. When she turned to look at him, he couldn't move. Couldn't take the necessary steps into the room and draw her toward his very lonely bed.<p>

It was her smile that got his traitorous limbs to finally move.

Their kisses heated and clothing was pulled off, revealing pale skin still smooth with muscle - though Solana still bore the marks of having borne a child. Alistair kissed those too when they collapsed onto his bed.

Familiar hands found familiar curves, rough fingertips teasing gasps and cries from the other. And when Alistair finally slid into her, he had to close his eyes to find his calm again. Their joining was slow, languorous at first as they found their rhythm. Then as their climax found them, Solana cried aloud, Alistair groaning his release.

And afterwards, wrapped in each others arms as they once used to in a small tent in some distant field, they slumbered.

* * *

><p>Solana woke. Something had disturbed her rest. Something hard struck her shoulder and she sat up. Alistair was on his back, his head turned away. His bare chest was covered in sweat and his head tossed toward her. His face was rigid with pain, brows drawn together and lips peeled back in a snarl. His hand was clenching the bedsheets.<p>

Solana's heart beat wildly. No. No, surely not.

She placed her hand upon his chest. "Alistair?"

He didn't respond, merely moaned something unintelligible. His head tossed again, and he cried aloud, back bowed in agony on the bed.

She reached for his hand and his eyes snapped open, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.

His gaze rested on her, wild eyed with fear and it took a moment to realise he was safe.

She touched his face.

"How long?"

"Been getting worse." He lifted his hand and pressed the fingers into his eyes.

"How long?" She repeated.

"Months now." His voice was choked.

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Alistair. Is this really why you asked me to come?"

He dropped his hand and sat upright, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs. "Yes. I'm sorry. I should have told you."

She wrapped her arms around his big, solid body and held him close as he quietly wept. "It will be alright. We will find a way. We will."

"There is no way," he said hollowly. "You know that. It's the Calling, Solana."

"But it's too soon. You can't be going through it."

Alistair reached out and tucked her into his embrace. "Denying it won't make it not happen, my love."

* * *

><p>The sun sent insipid rays through the windows, casting it's light over the two figures on the bed. One curled against the other, her legs entwined with his. The other staring at the ceiling, his face troubled.<p> 


End file.
